


Gratitude

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Ensemble cast...kind of, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam saves the day.  Everybody has something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Written for little_cello because she needed some cheering up (and I was having a bloody lousy day myself, and needed something to distract myself with).

Ray buys Sam his first drink, slides the pint of dark bitter in front of him: 'Don't let it go to your head.' Still, for all that typical, Ray-esque charm, he tilts his head in thanks, that slightest of nods, even goes so far as to lightly clap his hand down on Sam's shoulder.

Sam grins and nods his head in return. 'Don't worry, I won't.'

With a grin and a roll of his eyes, Ray claps his shoulder once more, leaves off. Sam sighs, eyes the pint, pulls it on over.

Of course, not a minute goes by and then Chris is at his side, showing a rather goofy grin, having bought him yet _another_ pint. 'Thanks again for not getting me killed today, Boss – er, that sounded better in my head.' The grin falters, his cheer does as well.

Sam chuckles, accepts the proffered drink, sets it to the side. 'Maybe it didn't come out right, but it still contained the right sentiment. It really was nothing, Chris – I've just got used to the lot of you, I guess. Don't feel like replacing the entirety of my team, you know?'

Still grinning, Chris nods his head. 'Still, thanks.'

One more nod, Sam somewhat bemused, and Chris turns away, heads over to where Ray is standing with their drinks.

It's Phyllis who buys him the third (plus a large scotch on the side), and Sam only just having finished downing the first pint, had barely started on the second. Bloody hell, what an embarrassment of riches. 'We made a good team today, don't you think so, Boss?' It wasn't that she'd been involved in the undercover op directly, but if it hadn't been for Phyllis then all of Sam's frantic coordinating would have been for naught.

Sam nods, still somewhat sick with relief, still not too sure how to show it. 'You know what, I really think we did – let's just hope we don't have to deal with any thing else like that for a good long while.'

Her response of 'that's the bloody truth!' carries her away.

It's Annie who shows up next, Sam halfway through the second pint. He grins up at her, she smiles in return, setting one more pint on the tabletop before him – Sam could laugh, just sighs instead. 'Good job today, DI Tyler.' She leans over, wraps her arms around him, doesn't mind that he's still sitting. The gratitude in her voice crashes over him like a wave, and Sam has to twist about in his seat in order to return her hug.

'Don't mention it, Annie.' He really doesn't _want_ her to mention it – it really had been too close for comfort, the situation between Annie (just one more of the hostages), and the lead gunman, who was more than just a little on edge at the time. 'It's okay now, we're all safe, let's just focus on that.'

One more tight squeeze, and then she's pulling away, Annie still smiling. 'Yeah, but we still all have you to thank.'

Sam smiles, but his chest is getting tight, so he shifts about in his seat, facing forward once more. He hides both his happiness and his uneasiness inside his pint, nearly draining the rest of it in one go. He's dizzy for a moment, the rush sparked by that quick intake of beer hitting him hard. Annie pats him on the shoulder, Sam shines a loopy grin in her direction, just as Gene drops down into the chair beside him, bearing two full pints. Taking that as some sort of hint, Annie departs.

Sam chuckles, gives a little shake of his head, finishes the one off and reaches for the third. 'I'm pretty much drowning in good wishes today, Guv.'

Gene pushes one mug, one more mug, one more show of gratitude, one more life he helped save. The pout is expected, otherwise Gene's not looking like he's too impressed – too typical, of course. 'Don't let it go to your head.'

Sam accepts it, pushes it to the side with the others – saving the best for last. 'Ray covered that one already.

The slightest laugh, Gene leaning back, stretching his legs out, just slightly bumping his leg against Sam's own. 'Good. Don't need that clever little brain of yours losing track of what's important.'

'You think I'm clever.' Sam's grin gets bigger. 'That's got to be the best thing I've heard all day.' He should know, because after all he's been swimming in compliments and praise for the last fifteen or so minutes. Not to say he minds.

Gene snorts as he laughs, louder this time, rolls his eyes as well. 'Better get to drinking then, Sammy-boy. You're falling behind.' Taking his own pint, he knocks it back, swallows down what must be half in one go.

Sam grins, shakes his head, sips at his third. It's a slight touch at first, Gene's fingers brushing near his own, then the entirety of his hand being overtaken by that warmth, Gene's touch brushing across the back of it. Sam's smiling now, he can't help himself. He knows that Gene would never hold hands with him in public, so the little touches that do somehow end up happening – the public displays of affection that don't involve bouncing him off of a wall – matter that much more. That, and it shows Sam that their relationship really does matter to Gene, no matter what might get said (or not get said at all, if Gene gets his way).

Near death situations? Nothing, not compared to seeing the little human parts of Gene Hunt shining through. 

Gene finishes his pint, and Sam moves onto his scotch.

'Good day?' he asks, a spark in his eyes, something Sam's sure he can blame on the fuzz that's starting to cover his mind. That, or maybe it's just something off with the lights.

Sam nods, the whisky warm as it goes down, his chest warm as well, and his smile, well, it feels like it's burning. 'The very best.'


End file.
